Night Lessons
by keeponwarbling
Summary: If there's one thing Oliver hates about his job, it's the marking. He'd much rather be at home with his family. Still, Barry has an idea to make things a little more exciting, and Oliver finds it pretty damn hard to resist.


While Oliver generally liked his job, there were certain things that irked him about it. For example, sometimes his students simply didn't care enough to pay attention to his lessons, talked over him in class or just generally acted up like the hormonal little shits high school students often were. Most tedious of all, though, was the paperwork.

Before they had adopted, Oliver would have quite happily took his marking home with him – that way he could at least relax in his own study. It's a bit hard to mark, however, when you have a hyperactive five year old daughter clawing at your door for your attention, and your husband entirely too busy dealing with a hungry four month old baby boy to pull her away. Not that Oliver would have it any other way. He loved his family dearly, of course. It just meant that he had to stay a little later in school, and that was a sacrifice he was willing to make.

He was in the middle of marking a particularly irritating essay (because seriously, Daniel, how hard is it to use simple punctuation?) when he heard his door creek open. Oliver let out a soft sigh, turning to scold whoever the fuck was interrupting him (because seriously, who doesn't bother to knock?) when the sight at the door gave him pause.

"Barry?"

The younger man grinned at him, leaning against the door frame. "Hey, babe."

Closing the door behind him with a soft _thump_ , Barry made his way over to the other man, bending over to greet Oliver with a soft peck to the lips.

"What are you doing here?" Oliver asked, taken aback. Then, "actually, more importantly, where the hell are our children?"

Barry chuckled. "Relax, Thea picked them up about an hour ago. She said she figured we could use a break, but I honestly just think she was bored and lonely."

Oliver blinked. "Roy's working away again?"

Sighing, Barry nodded. "Gotham City. He'll be away for a few weeks."

Chewing his pen thoughtfully, Oliver considered (not for the first time) attempting to find Roy a job at the school. While he made a pretty good living for Thea and himself as a delivery driver, surely his sister's partner would much rather be stationed at home – he certainly complained about being away from her often enough.

Perching himself on the edge of Oliver's desk, Barry watched his husband carefully.

"What are you doing?" Oliver asked.

"You look tired," Barry replied, a concerned expression etched on his face.

It was true – the fatigue had pretty much overtaken him. His entire body felt heavy, and his eyes had drooped several times during marking. Still, though, these assignments were due to be handed back tomorrow, and Oliver sure as shit wasn't planning on going back on his word.

Cupping Oliver's jaw with one hand, Barry frowned. "Why don't you take a break?"

"I- I don't- I need to finish this for tomorrow."

"A short break, then."

"Barry," Oliver warned, pulling the essay back in front of him, idly tapping his pen on the desk.

Without warning, Barry carefully moved the essay piles so that he could move around the desk, using his legs to pull Oliver's chair, the wheels squeaking underneath him, so that he was no longer in front of the essay, but between Barry's soft, warm thighs instead.

"Did you seriously come all this way to seduce me?" Oliver asked, eyebrows raised.

Sliding himself from the desk onto Oliver's lap and winding his arms around the back of his neck, Barry smirked suggestively, causing Oliver to groan with frustration. "Barry, seriously, I need to work."

"I hear you, babe." Barry said, shuffling from Oliver's lap until he was kneeling on the floor in front of him, green eyes gazing up at Oliver intently. Warmth flooded his groin at the sight – Barry, on his knees, long fingers trailing up and down his thigh lazily. His pants were beginning to feel unnecessarily tight. "Just you keep on marking. I'll wait right here."

Oh, Oliver was so onto him.

Nevertheless, he made a move to pull the essay back in front of him, only to freeze again as he felt the hands on his lap move to his zipper. "Barry," Oliver groaned. "Fuck."

"Now now, Mr Queen, I believe you were supposed to be working. Don't mind me, I'll find something to do down here."

That little shit. Feeling the scrunch of the paper below his clenching hand, Oliver let out a whine.

Well, shit. He'd have to make some sort of excuse about the condition of the essay when he handed it back the following day. Still, Oliver argued, it might have even improved it a little.

All thoughts were drawn away from the essay in front of him when he felt Barry pull his hard cock out of his pants, proceeding to stroke up and down playfully, without adding enough friction to truly ease his frustration. Oliver gulped, attempting to turn his attention back to his work. (God, he wouldn't be able to look Daniel in the eye tomorrow at this rate).

Then, without preamble, he was engulfed in the wet heat of Barry's mouth, causing Oliver to jolt, his pen shooting across the page without warning, leaving a thick red line. _Shit_.

Marking completely torn from his mind now, Oliver bit back a moan as he gave into temptation, looking down at his husband who was smirking around his dick, emerald eyes staring piercingly back at him. "I hate you," Oliver grunted, dropping his pen completely and moving his hands to the back of Barry's head, raking his fingers into his hair then closing them to grip on. Barry just hummed non-committally, the vibrations causing Oliver's brain to short-circuit entirely.

He was slick with Barry's saliva, Barry swirling his tongue around the head, before bringing Oliver deeper, his cheeks hollowed as he bobbed his head a few times. Panting heavily, Oliver attempted to use every ounce of self-control he had not to just fuck into the heat – not that Barry couldn't handle it. Oliver knew by experience that his husband had practically no gag reflex – they had experimented with that in great detail, thank you very much.

Still, as he watched Barry, lips swollen around his dick, hands splayed on the base of his stomach just underneath his shirt, he could think of something else he wanted to do to the other man at that moment.

"On the desk," Oliver growled, tugging on Barry's head so that he came off Oliver's cock entirely with a _pop_ , gazing up at him with feigned innocence.

"Are you going to fuck me, Mr Queen?" Barry asked, a tilt to his lips, leaning back into Oliver's groin, licking his lips before using his tongue to draw a stripe from the base to his slit, causing Oliver to hiss and squirm in his seat.

"I said," Oliver grunted, pulling Barry up to his feet as he stood to meet the height of the younger man. "Get on the fucking desk."

Barry shuddered with delight, gripping onto Oliver's hips and placing light kisses on his neck, biting softly on his lobe before whispering darkly into Oliver's ear, "How do you want me, _sir_?"

In a matter of seconds, Oliver flipped Barry so that he was bent over the desk, fingers scraping the wood, skin prickling with pure _want_. "You are a little shit, you know that? You have no fucking idea what you do to me." Oliver snarled, setting a tight grip on Barry's hips, leaning against him so that his erection was pressed firmly against his husband, Barry keening desperately for him now.

Pulling Barry up so that they were standing in front of the desk, back-to-chest, Oliver fumbled roughly with the other man's zipper, sucking bruising marks into his neck. Once Barry's pants were firmly draped around his ankles, Oliver splayed his hand on Barry's back, bending him back over, taking a moment to feast his eyes on the delicious sight.

Barry lay with the side of his cheek planted against the wood, plaid shirt riding up so that his lower back was in view, his skin slick with sweat, completely flushed. He was taking short gasps as Oliver gripped back on his hair, trembling with anticipation.

It was then that Oliver spotted it. Drawing in a breath, he ran his fingers over the plug, closing his eyes for a few seconds in attempt to compose himself. Fuck, at this rate he was going to blow his load all over the desk, without even getting the chance to be inside Barry. Barry let out a loud groan at the pressure of Oliver's fingers.

"What is this, Barry?" Oliver demanded, pulling Barry up by the hair so that the younger man was turned to meet his gaze.

"It-" his breath hitched as Oliver tugged on the plug, before pulling it from him entirely. "It's a butt plug, sir."

"And why exactly were you wearing it?"

"I- I wanted t-to be prepared for you."

Oliver groaned, palming Barry's ass, kneading it gently before pulling on the cheeks to expose the other man's hole to him – still slick with lube. "And are you? Prepared?" This was important, Oliver reminded himself. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Barry because he got far too over excited. At times like this, communication was key.

"Yes, sir." Barry murmured, his face planted back on the desk. "Please- Mr Queen- please-"

 _Fuck_.

Without further delay, Oliver lined himself up, Barry trembling with need before him. As he sunk into the tight, wet heat, they let out a collective moan, Barry pressing his forehead against the wood, babbling desperately as Oliver slowly buried himself up to the hilt.

Pausing for a few seconds, both men panting heavily, Oliver waited for Barry to adjust. As big as the plug might have been, Oliver was certainly bigger, and he always took care to ensure that Barry was entirely comfortable. As Barry clenched around him, though, he got the hint, proceeding to fuck into his husband slowly.

God, the feeling of Barry around him – it was almost _too much._ The other man was gasping sinfully before him, moaning beautifully as Oliver managed to get a certain angle, making contact with Barry's prostate.

Increasing the rhythm, Oliver began to pound into his husband with fiery passion, one hand grasped tightly in Barry's messy hair, the other gripping onto his hip for balance, Barry arching his back, breath juttering, letting out strangled noises as Oliver grunted, his nails digging into Barry's hips a little.

Letting out a cry, Oliver felt Barry tense around him, the younger man drowning in pleasure as he spilled his release onto the desk. At the added pressure, Oliver yelped, following with a carnal groan as he felt his stomach tighten, ecstasy soaring through him as he reached his climax, tensing inside Barry before he completely combusted, feeling his seed spill into Barry's tight heat.

Everything was silent for a few minutes as Oliver untangled his hands from Barry's hair, trailing his other hand from his hips so that he could brush his palms over the back of Barry's hands, lacing their fingers together on the desk. He draped himself limply over his husband's back, both men completely breathless and fucked out.

"Fuck," Oliver breathed into Barry's neck, heart still pounding in his chest.

"That was the general idea, yes." Barry replied with a soft chuckle, squeezing Oliver's fingers gently.

Kissing his husband softly on the back of the neck, Oliver drew himself away, Barry hissing as he pulled out. "Sorry, baby." Oliver soothed, before lifting the plug, running it over the come running down Barry's leg. "Can't have you making a mess on the way home, hm?"

"No, sir." Barry sighed, much more calm and collected now. Still, he stifled a soft sob as Oliver pushed the plug back into him as gently as possible, his own come ensuring easy passage.

"Plus, you've got to keep yourself prepared for me. I'm not done with you quite yet, babe." Barry jolted as Oliver lay a soft smack to his butt, before proceeding to zip himself back up.

After cleaning the desk with the tissues that he (thankfully) kept in his drawer, Oliver returned to his marking, Barry drawing a chair beside him, leaning against him and nuzzling him softly. Still riding high of the adrenaline, he managed to finish the rest of his marking pretty quickly.

(All the students were pretty pleased with their grades the next day, joking that their teacher must have been in a particularly good mood while he was marking. Oliver felt himself blush, clearing his throat and turning himself back to the board after the remark was made, launching into a rant about the proper use of semi-colons and desperately trying to fight the image in his head of his husband bent over his desk the previous evening.)


End file.
